A Nagging Feeling

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    I really don’t want to feel anything. 

    I hate how deep your words cut me the morning they spilled out of your mouth. Similar to the tea you were boiling on the stove, your emotions heated in your throat and soon bubbled over faster than anyone could have predicted. I didn’t expect it at first. When I saw your name pop up on my phone. It was too early for you to be calling me. We just waved goodbye at the door and I was halfway to my car. But like everything in life, it brought my hurried feet to an unexpected halt. The tone in your voice was the first thing that scared me. You said my name with such bitterness that I didn’t recognize it. “Dishes,” you yelled. “Cunning” is what you called me in the sentences that followed after. I was so shocked that the initial fear was soon replaced by anger. Had I known my forgetfulness to wash a single dish would cause all this anger and hatred towards me I would’ve happily scrubbed away.

    I should’ve washed the plate. 

    Wait no.

    I was running late, so I shouldn’t have eaten. I should’ve kept your sink clean. I shouldn’t have worried about packing lunch before working for twelve hours. I shouldn’t have even worried about preparing it the night before. I shouldn’t have left the pot in the sink after cooking it. I shouldn’t have caused this mess of dirty plates by making you buy them in the first place. When you saw me offering you a small silver spoon, before I was even an idea, you shouldn’t have taken it. That way the resentment in your chest wouldn’t have had time to build in the last 20 years and I wouldn’t have been endlessly driving down a shitty road with such shitty potholes.


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